“Okay, Father Fecked. Wake up. Time to go home.”
Father Fecked stirs from his slumber. “Hrmmmph,” he says, bottle still in hand. Always. Along with the cane in the other one.
“You’ve got to go, Fecked,” reiterates Daisy Flathead, running her bar again but underwater this time. Bull’s Bar. She’s just a manager this go around, with Bull aka “Yellow Jack” being the owner. But she’s okay with it. For now.
Father Fecked stretches, yawns. “Hrrrrrrrrrummmph.” Smacking of lips. He looks around, just realizing where he is. Oh yeah, had to crash here, he understands through the brain fog. Nowhere to stay. “I– have—”
“You haven’t got a place to go, yeah I know,” says Daisy. “Frank and I have solved that for you. You can return to the castle. You can have your old bedroom. Just—” Daisy stops here, decides not to mention the drinking, the night wandering around the castle. *Their* room that one time; Fecked and Philip *both*. And they can’t lock the door; have to keep it phantom so *they* can enter. Stupid, primitive castle, she sometimes laments. But it’s such a nifty vintage build. There are advantages to old too.
More smacking of lips. Finally he makes eye contact with her. “My… *bedroom*?”
“Yes, Fecked. You can go back. You can return… home.” Hard to say that word for her. *Their* home, ugh.
Smacking of lips, looking around, then eye contact again. “Home?”
“Yeah. I just need to clear you out of the bar tonight. No Lag’s playing in a couple of hours and the place should get pretty packed. *Hopefully*. Because, you know, I need the money. Sea Monster set me back you see.” She starts cleaning the beer glasses “Go on, now. Shooo.”
“No… Lag,” he manages in his gruff way, turning toward the stage.
“Yeah, the local genius guitarist. Haven’t heard her yet. But she’s popular. Drew in over 35 at The Burg last weekend, almost broke the sim. She’s a known commodity, as they say.”
Meanwhile…
“We’ve thrown in this bed — just like ours, guys. I think you’ll like some of the new moves, he he.”
Philip looks around. “But where will I take my wees?” Now that the castle’s big tongue is gone, is the unspoken part of his question. Philip loves to dangle his willy off its tip and pee into the landscape below.
“Grass,” Frank instructs while waving. “All around.”
Philip decided that would have to do, or Nada did for him, eagerly eyeing the bed. TBC
